


The Dead Don't Talk

by Dragomir



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:30:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/pseuds/Dragomir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as it pains Miles to say this, this is <i>not</i> the strangest thing his family has ever done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dead Don't Talk

**Author's Note:**

> It's a new story. To say anything else would spoil it.
> 
> Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

Charlie didn't seem to be taking Danny's death as hard as she might have.

That worried Miles. It worried him a lot. It signaled that his niece was either in a prolonged state of shock, still traumatized, or was in denial about what had happened. He would have thought she'd react more like she had with Maggie's death, but there were fewer tears. She'd started spending a lot of time on her own, though. And she'd taken to wearing longer sleeves.

The long sleeves alone made Miles worry. She wasn't the type to cut her arms open—he _hoped_ she wasn't, anyways—but there was no reason for her to wear long sleeves in this kind of weather. It was warm, it was sunny, and the weather was beautiful. It was also spring and his allergies were acting up, but they weren't such a big deal these days.

To the day, it had been almost five months since Danny's death in late November. Charlie had cried for the first few weeks. After three weeks, the tears had dried up and vanished completely. Miles was pretty sure it wasn't because of Jason—for which he was eternally grateful—and it definitely wasn't because Major Neville was no longer being beaten. (She'd admitted that she'd gotten over her anger at a prisoner being beaten.)

But Miles was worried.

The smart thing to do, of course, would have been to talk to Charlie and just ask.

(Miles isn't exactly the brightest bulb when it came to Charlie, though. If he were, this story would be much shorter.)

He followed her out of the compound. Charlie usually left on Friday afternoons, when people were occupied with other things that took too long to plan and too many hands to carry out. (Some people were putting up more permanent structures than the tents they currently lived in.) She returned late on Sunday evening, or—on one occasion—not until afternoon on the following Monday. She always came back with her game bag full, though, so no one could complain about the extended absences.

Charlie took a long, meandering route through the countryside. Miles was grateful it was wooded, or he'd never have been able to tail her like this. She finally stopped in a clearing that was quite peaceful. There was a makeshift shelter between two trees. It looked like someone had built a nest on the ground. Miles frowned.

She hadn't fallen in love with some wildman, had she?

Not that he'd mind. Not really. Anything was better than Jason and his stupid boy-band face, after all.

"You can come out!" Charlie yelled. Miles tensed, thinking she'd spotted him. Well, that was the downfall of the great Miles… A bundle of what he'd thought were rags in the center of the nest shifted and a hand appeared, pawing around the edge of the nest. An arm and then a head followed, and then the rest of a person.

Miles wasn't in a good position to see who it was, although he could see Charlie embrace the person. She had a wide smile on her face, which quickly turned into a grimace. Her nose wrinkled.

"You need a bath." The man grumbled something and Charlie laughed. "Tough luck. You want to eat what I brought you?" He nodded. "Then you're getting a good scrub."

That made Miles raise an eyebrow. So… Charlie had a charity case. That was… Well, that was Charlie. If it bled and cried, she'd probably adopt it and try to nurse it back to health. It was, in equal parts, her best trait and her most annoying. As long as this current pet project wasn't a threat to the safety of the camp, Miles would leave it be. Maybe the man was why Charlie wasn't crying…

For that, Miles would forgive him any fault he had.

Twenty minutes later, Charlie came back, holding the man's hand. She was chatting happily about nothing in particular. The man had her game bag and was digging through it. Miles grimaced in disgust as the man with his niece dug something grayish and slimy out of the bag. The man examined it for a few seconds, before sliding it into his mouth and chewing with relish.

Well, at least _someone_ was eating Charlie's cooking.

"So, I told you about what Uncle Miles did, didn't I?"

The two young adults—Miles was just guessing the man's age, but he'd say about twenty—sat down on a log. Charlie took her boots off and shook a pebble out.

"No I didn't," Charlie laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, this is a good one. So, Aaron stands up to him. And threatens him with a baseball bat. This is the funny part, by the way," she added, giving her companion a sly grin. "This woman comes out of nowhere, looks at Aaron, and then kisses Miles. Complete with dipping him down, like in that book we read. Remember?"

The man nodded.

Miles winced at the memory of that. There was no denying that Priscilla was hot. There was _also_ no denying that she was batshit crazy. And had a serious grudge against her ex-husband for reasons left unexplained.

"And…" Charlie paused in her story, looking around. She tensed, like Miles knew she did when she'd heard something. She usually did that when she was hunting. Miles looked down and sighed. He'd stepped on a branch while trying to listen to Charlie's story.

"Who's there?" Charlie growled, pulling her sword out of her pack. Miles had to smile at that. Good girl.

Miles stepped out, hands raised. "It's just me, Charlie," he said. Charlie stood up, glaring at him, arms crossed over her chest. "I was—"

"Intruding!" Charlie snapped crossly. Her companion stood behind her, nose buried in her hair. Charlie waved him away impatiently. "Later!" She looked at Miles. "I'm still mad at you. This was not cool."

The man was behind Charlie again, still nosing at her hair. Charlie glowered at Miles and turned to look at her friend.

"No. You cannot eat him. If you want, later, we will go hunting and I will get you a Militia soldier. Alright?"

Miles gawked at his niece. So she _wasn't_ alright. She was hanging out with a mute cannibal. He swallowed. This was not going to end well. Maybe he should have paid more attention to her after Danny's death. She wouldn't have ended up in love with a cannibal…

The man nodded. Miles noted, in an offhanded way, that his hair was quite blond, although it was darker with water. She really had given him a good scrubbing. Miles wrinkled his nose a little. Although the cannibal probably needed new clothes. The smell was terrible.

Charlie sighed, drawing Miles back to the present.

"Fantastic," she muttered, rubbing her forehead with one hand. The other was perched on her hip. It was a classic pose Miles knew from spending time around Rachel. She was annoyed and fighting a headache. It was probably because of him.

"This was _not_ how I planned to break the news," Charlie continued. She stood aside, pulling her cannibal friend forward to stand beside her. "Uncle Miles, this is Danny."

Miles goggled at the man, suddenly recognizing the milky eyes. Under the film covering them, they were still the same startling shade of blue he remembered. There was an unhealthy pallor to the boy's skin, and his lips were almost black, but there was no mistaking who it was….

"Jesus Christ!" Miles yelped.

His nephew was a zombie.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Kind of want this to happen in canon? Drop a line and let me know!


End file.
